


A Hell of a Day

by MaleficentorMagnificent (NattheBattz)



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Claire is drunk, F/F, Morgan is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NattheBattz/pseuds/MaleficentorMagnificent
Summary: Takes place immediately after 3x07, Claire goes to Morgan after their conversation at the bar.
Relationships: Claire Browne & Morgan Reznick, Claire Browne/Morgan Reznick
Comments: 11
Kudos: 113





	A Hell of a Day

Morgan’s eyes snap open and she blinks rapidly to clear the fog of sleep from her mind. She reaches for her phone on her nightstand and squints against the harsh glare of the screen, seeing 1:46 displayed. She’s wondering what woke her up when her doorbell rings several times in quick succession, making her pulse spike at the idea of someone outside her door in the middle of the night. She reaches into the drawer of her nightstand and withdraws her gun, checking to make sure the safety is off before walking out of her room toward the front door. 

She flinches at the sudden loud knocks that reverberate through her dark entrance hall, her fingers flexing around the grip of her gun, fighting against the trembling threatening to overtake her body. She reaches the door and looks through the peephole to see a disheveled, irritated, and drunk Claire standing on the other side. Morgan exhales sharply as she reengages the safety on her gun, stepping back into her kitchen to quickly stash the weapon in a drawer under some dish towels. She goes back to open the door right as Claire rings the doorbell another three times, stopping with her hand still up when Morgan yanks the door open. 

“What are you—” Morgan asks, or tries to rather, Claire not paying her any attention.

“My old self, you mean St. Claire?” Claire asks, her voice derisive on the old nickname as she steps up into Morgan’s face, causing the other woman to step back in response. Morgan ushers Claire the rest of the way into her home, closing the front door and locking it before turning back to face Claire. Morgan frowns at the strong scent of alcohol that wafts into her, but her expression lessens ever so slightly when she notes the lack of cologne that’s become a staple to Claire’s casual clothes in her locker. “Answer me.” Claire demands, poking her right index finger against Morgan’s sternum. Instead of waiting for an answer though, Claire begins to pace. 

“You said,” Claire has to pause her speaking as she covers a loud belch, before continuing on as if nothing happened, “You said it was a hell of a day.” Claire says, coming to a stop near the doorway to the living room. “Why’d you say that?” Claire asks as she turns around, her eyes boring into Morgan’s. Morgan swallows and wonders if she should have initially been so relieved to see Claire standing at her door. 

“What do you mean?” Morgan asks, her eyes darting around the room briefly as if she could escape even if she saw a way out. Claire huffs before closing the distance between them again, causing Morgan to blink in surprise as her back meets the door. Claire’s brows are furrowed in thought or maybe concentration, Morgan isn’t entirely sure. Claire reaches her right hand up under the hem of Morgan’s shirt, and the blonde tenses at the cold temperature of the other woman’s fingers but doesn’t say anything since her hand stays in place against her hip. Claire hums to herself and sways into the taller woman for a moment, letting her head rest against Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan hopes that her pulse is not as audible as it is fast right now. Claire pulls back slightly, just enough to look up into Morgan’s eyes once more. 

“When you met my mother, after…” Claire trails off, for a moment before continuing on, “After Tyler, you spent that day with me, remember?” Claire asks, and Morgan nods, because really, how could she ever forget that day. “You told me that it was a good day. But today, you said it was a hell of a day. What was the difference for you?” Claire asks, her words slightly slurring at the end. Morgan frowns. 

“That’s not obvious?” She asks, already knowing that Claire isn’t sober enough for this conversation. Claire shakes her head, and Morgan lets her head fall back to rest against the door behind her. Claire’s left hand tentatively brushes the corner of Morgan’s jaw before sliding up to cup her cheek, her fingertips urging Morgan’s head forward so they’re looking at each other again. Morgan feels her eyes burn with frustration. Of course, now Claire would be soft with her, now that she’s buried enough of her grief under the same thing that took her mother in the first place. She wonders if Claire is this soft with the men she’s been picking up at bars, or if she’s only being this way because she knows Morgan misses her old, softer self. “You were the difference.” Morgan confesses. She watches Claire try to process the words and their meaning, but her frown only deepens. 

“What do you mean?” Claire asks, parroting Morgan’s question from earlier. Morgan wants to roll her eyes. 

“You were okay at the end of that day. Yes, I was there to seek out the comfort of your company as a _healthy_ coping device, but by the end of the day, we were both alright. You even agreed to meet my mom, I don’t know if you remember that or not, but I do.” Morgan snaps her mouth closed as she feels her throat suddenly tighten up, her eyes beginning to burn in a dreadfully familiar way. She doesn’t want to cry in front of the other woman, but finally talking about how invested she’s been in making sure Claire doesn’t drown and lose herself in her grief is going to make her do it. But this new Claire that’s been taking over her co-worker’s life since her mother died doesn’t care about how Morgan feels or what she wants. She doesn’t care what anyone wants, Andrews, Shaun, or Charlie, Claire is only in it for herself as of late. “You’ve been slacking in the workplace. You took your aggravation out on a scared child today. You’ve been drinking and fucking random men, whom I can only pray that you’re making wear condoms, for the past several nights. Yet you won’t admit that you’re hurting or struggling to process the entirety of your feelings and just talk to someone.” Morgan exhales, feeling her eyes finally well up with tears as she bites her lip to keep herself from breaking into outright sobs. “As if I haven’t been worrying about you constantly, checking the board to make sure that you’re not missing anything important when you’re over an hour late, covering for you, and lying for you, all without you trying to help yourself at all.” Morgan says, her tears tapering off as she feels the anger of her frustration rise to the surface. 

“I didn’t ask you to care about me, Morgan.” Claire practically hisses back, her fingers digging almost harshly into Morgan’s hip. The blonde woman laughs bitterly in response.

“Don’t you get it, St. Claire?” Morgan asks, quirking an eyebrow at the intentionally hard squeeze of her hip from Claire at the nickname. 

“I told you—” Claire starts, but Morgan doesn’t let her finish.

“Shut up, Claire.” Morgan interrupts and the brunette surprisingly listens, her eyes slightly widening the only other visible reaction she gives. Morgan continues, not wanting to lose her train of thought, “You… you always cared, about everyone that you came into contact with at the hospital. The first person I saw you be a witch to, was your mother. I asked you about it at the time, and you brushed it off, but now she’s dead and you suddenly feel the need to have her around so much that you’re mimicking her behaviors. Unreliability, carelessness, tardiness, drinking, hooking up, and lying all sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Morgan asks, hating herself for doing so as she watches the words ignite a different emotion in Claire’s eyes altogether, but not regretting it, knowing that these are words the other woman needs to hear. 

“What, you meet her once and suddenly you know my mother? You’ll never know her, Morgan.” Claire snaps back, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. 

“Of course, I can’t know your mother, but I do know you, Claire. And that means that I know who you aren’t.” Morgan replies, her anger already fading back, being replaced by the familiar overwhelming need to make sure the other woman is okay. Claire groans and drops her head against Morgan’s shoulder once more. Claire mumbles something against her, but Morgan can’t make out the question, so she asks her to repeat herself. Claire only turns and tilts her head so that her nose brushes against the underside of Morgan’s jaw. The taller woman tries not to tense at the sensation and doesn’t even notice her hands move to rest on Claire’s hips to keep them steady now that Claire is leaning so heavily into her. 

“Why do you even care?” Claire asks, her expression landing somewhere near demanding, while her tone rings closer to desperate, and thankfully Morgan doesn’t comment on the latter. She does tense at the question though, unsure of how she wants to reply. Truth be told, she’s not entirely sure why she’s been going out of her way so much for the other woman. As if she hadn’t tried three other bars before finding Claire where she did tonight. Okay, full-truth be told, Morgan is painfully aware why she’s been trying so hard to keep Claire from spiraling out completely. She doesn’t want to have this conversation with Claire while she’s intoxicated however, so she decides to compromise, a small gift the other woman probably won’t remember in the morning. She brings her arms up and wraps them around Claire’s shoulders, hugging her with enough pressure to border on painful, but Claire can’t remember the last time she was hugged with such a reassuring intensity. Her arms are slack by her sides, but something snaps when she feels Morgan take a deep breath against the top of her head like her mother had in the very early years of her childhood, when Claire was too young to understand addiction, only knowing her mother’s smile and happy singing meant that she was smiling too. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she has to take a deep shuddering breath, and then the tears feel like they’re never going to stop coming. Morgan brings one hand up to cradle the back of Claire’s head as her arms wrap around Morgan’s waist, and they stand that way for what feels like hours. Morgan doesn’t offer the shorter woman any words of comfort, but she doesn’t loosen her hold on Claire either, knowing that the other woman needs this, and has probably needed to do this for awhile now. She waits for Claire’s crying to subside before speaking, causing the shorter woman to start slightly at the sudden sound of her voice. 

“I care because…” Morgan starts, but trails off, her resolve wavering in the face of reality. She thinks of brave Charlie standing in line, waiting to confess his attraction to the young girl selling slushies, and how Morgan had given him some of the words that she imagines telling Claire one day. She thinks of him chickening out, but still being brave enough to go under the knife once more knowing he’d wake up to never see again. She thinks of the way it felt to be in a car with Claire and a child, talking about SFADs and she feels her resolve strengthen once more as she looks into the red eyes of the woman she’s terrified of losing to her own grief. Morgan takes a deep breath and presses on, “Because you’ve worked too hard and long to throw it all away now, Claire. You’re an incredibly strong and kind person, you’re intelligent and driven, and you’re just… better than this. You may hate it, but I know you, and I know that this isn’t where you want to be. This isn’t who you wanted to be. St. Bonaventure doesn’t need another pessimistic, angry surgical resident. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve got that covered in spades lately.” Morgan says, trying to lighten her words with an ill-timed joke. Claire leans back so that she can look up at the other woman’s face. 

“I’m tired of giving pieces of myself away. I have nothing left. I’m out of empathy, it’s pointless to feel bad for everyone when the world is just a cruel and unfair place in general.” Claire says, and Morgan wants to bang her head against the door behind her at the familiar pessimism. She shakes her head instead. 

“Giving pieces of yourself to people is how you form relationships. It’s worth it when you give those pieces to people who will return them, or give you pieces of themselves in exchange. Of course, the world is a cold harsh place, Claire, and of course you’ve known this for quite some time now. Before your mother died though, you were above letting that reality drag you down with the rest of us. I know I act high and mighty, and I’ve been trying to work on that, but… I envied your ability to radiate positivity and compassion no matter what. The world might be suckish, but you were above it, and always reaching back to help everyone else up to see the view of the silver lining. St. Claire gave us all hope and a helping hand in hopeless situations. I know that you’re not always going to get back what you give out in a fair and equal return, but I’m right here Claire. I’ve been here, and I’m going to stay here until you decide which way you’re going to go with this. And when you do, I’ll be here to help you, or I’ll be here to watch you fall, and ultimately the choice is yours, I can’t make it for you. But I am practically begging you not to make me watch you completely spiral out like you have been.” Morgan confesses, her throat tight by the end of her little speech. She hadn’t planned on saying quite that much to brunette, but she feels better having gotten the thoughts off her chest. Claire’s arms are tight around her torso, and she wonders what’s going through the other woman’s mind right now. 

“I’m tired.” Claire exhales, leaning against Morgan so much that she’s practically pinned to the door. Morgan bites her lip.

“I know, but it’s going to get easier Claire. You just have to—” Morgan starts to say but is cut off by Claire’s head shaking against her chest. 

“No, not like that. Well, yes, also like that. But I’m tired right now, can I sleep here? I might fall asleep in a Lyft.” Claire mumbles, her fingers gently fidgeting with the hem of Morgan’s shirt around her hips. Morgan wants to sigh at the lack of a real response to her confession, but she chalks that up to her fault, she knew from the beginning that Claire was too drunk to have this conversation. She nods and is surprised to see the small smile that graces the shorter woman’s face at the answer. 

Morgan leads Claire to her bedroom, helping the other woman out of her jeans before letting her get under the covers, Claire not wanting to wait any longer before going to sleep. Morgan shakes her head at the other woman. She goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with water to leave on the bedside table near Claire for in the morning. She contemplates retrieving her gun from the kitchen but decides it’s probably safer hidden in the other room for now, away from the drunk woman. She gets in bed, lying on her left side so that she can look at the other woman who’s already gently snoring in her slumber. 

Claire has preoccupied most of her thoughts at night, Morgan wondering if she’s safe or home or just okay, it’s an odd kind of reassuring to have her sleeping next to her. Morgan sighs to herself. She reaches forward to brush Claire’s hair from her face without thinking about it, and feels her stomach slightly dip when the other woman leans into the touch in her sleep. She withdraws her hand and tucks it under her pillow to support her head and closes her eyes, hoping to get some sleep before they have to be up for work in a few hours. Morgan’s last fleeting thought is that it had been a hell of day indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This damn show has given me over-sized shoes along with a big red nose, and I will now die with this ship. I wanted to get this posted yesterday, but I was really busy celebrating my birthday O_o  
One day I will write a fic for them that doesn't end with them falling asleep together, but until then sorry :D 
> 
> My heart's breaking for Morgan at this point, just having to watch our girl Claire spiral despite her best efforts, and I just want them both to get Hugged damn it :(  
(Also, unrelated to this fic, but Melendez is a clown too. Thoughts?)


End file.
